February 18, 2011
by Kage Nightray
Summary: Madeline's musings regarding a former classmate. High school AU, some genderbent characters, rated T for discussion of suicide.


**AN: Madeline's POV.**

* * *

When people think of Alfred F. Jones, what do you think are the first things that comes to mind?

Popular, class clown, happy?

Sometimes, I wonder if the Alfred we all knew was the real him. What secrets did he hide behind his laughing eyes?

* * *

I was in the same class as him all through middle school. He was one person that I could never understand, but I liked him just the same. Who didn't? He was the nicest guy around.

Nevertheless, he did have a few… peculiar quirks. For example, as a general rule, he didn't come to school Mondays, the day before a long weekend or break, the day after a long weekend or break, the day before a test, or the day before a concert. We used to say that he was only a part-time student, he missed so much school.

He and I both started band as flute players, switching to percussion instruments at the first opportunity; I played bells, he played just about everything else. Even though he would never be at the last rehearsal before a concert or parade or field trip, he never actually missed a single concert. He was one of the few that could be counted on to show up. It always freaked our band director out, though; you'd think after 4 years of dealing with him, Mr. Edelstein would have known that he would always be there for the concerts.

Despite sharing most of our classes, we rarely talked. Still, I always liked being around him. He was the sort of person who made everyone's day better just by being there. Anytime someone was having a bad day, we could count on Alfred to cheer them up - provided he was there, of course.

* * *

Things change when you start high school; everyone knows this. Still, it was very weird for me to not see Alfred on a regular basis. We weren't really friends, but I had accepted him as a constant in my life; someone I could always count on to make my day brighter with his goofy antics.

After the first few months, I got used to not seeing him. Every now and again, I'd see him in the hallways, and that was good enough for me.

I didn't really think about him again until February 18, the day of the Gender Defender assembly. This was the one assembly where we were not separated by grade, but by gender. Still, there were a few guys on the girls' side, and probably vice versa. One of my guy friends was sitting with us on the girls' side, which made me wonder if Alfred was doing the same thing; it just seemed like something he would do. I spent the entire assembly scanning the girls' side of the gym for that guy, but he wasn't there.

I didn't really dwell on it; it wouldn't be the first time he had missed school on a Friday.

* * *

The next morning, I went to check Facebook, just as I had done every morning for the past several months. This time, I was in for the shock of my life; my news feed was filled with posts saying "RIP Alfred F. Jones". I remembered seeing one the previous night, but hadn't thought anything of it; in middle school, whenever someone was absent, we would joke around, saying that that person was dead. I had assumed that was the case when I saw the first post. How I wish that had been true.

That morning, there were far too many for it to be a joke. I went to Alfred's Facebook page, only to find even more of them; probably at least a hundred. I stared at the screen in shock, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. I texted my best friend, hoping she would know what was going on.

Several minutes later, my older brother, Francis, came in, wanting to use the computer. Seeing that I wasn't going to move, he asked what was wrong.

"Either this is a really, really bad joke, or… Alfred's dead," I said as I began sobbing uncontrollably, reality finally smacking me in the face.

Francis just stared at me, not really knowing what was going on, before accepting that I wasn't going to let him use the computer and going to watch TV. I assume he told our younger brother, Michael, because he brought me one of her stuffed animals a couple minutes later to help make me feel better. It was a sweet thought, but nothing could make me feel better by that point.

Around then, I got a text back from my friend. She confirmed that Alfred was dead, and told me it was suicide.

I simply couldn't understand it. How could Alfred, the happiest, most popular, sweetest guy I knew, have done that? Why would he do that? He was popular, but the good kind of popular, where everyone likes you because you're nice and funny, not a jerk that happens to play sports. Everyone loved him, most people wanted to be him. So why did he end his life?

It simply didn't make sense.

* * *

The few months following that are a blur for me. I cannot remember much of what happened, and the few things that I do remember are not good.

For example, I remember looking into dark magic so that I could trade my soul for his, so that the rest of the world could have him back. After all, they surely would rather have him than me, since hardly anyone even knew I existed.

I remember praying every day that Alfred really was in a better place, wherever his soul went after his death.

I remember trying to fold a thousand paper cranes, with the wish that Alfred was in a better place, and that no one would try to follow him. I never could finish it, because finishing it would mean that he really was dead.

I remember expecting that any day, Alfred would show up at school, saying it was all just a joke, that he's really alright.

I remember trying to suppress my own suicidal feelings, so that I could live for Alfred, do all the things he didn't have the chance to.

I remember giving up, and preparing to end my own life. Honestly, the only reason I didn't that day, about three months after Alfred died, was because I wasn't sure whether or not I would be able to read in the afterlife; if I couldn't, I wanted to make sure I finished my book first. Francis got home right as I finished, destroying that opportunity.

* * *

In the month leading up to Alfred's death, I was plagued by nightmares of my friends and family committing suicide. After he died, they stopped. I think I would rather have the nightmares; at least I can wake up from those.

* * *

These past two and a half years since then have been really rough. I had a lot of my own problems at home, nothing too major, but enough to be stressful.

Unfortunately, contrary to my hope, there have been five more suicides since then; two more at my school, one at the other high school in our district, at two at my old middle school. I think the two at the middle school were the hardest on everyone. They were both my mom's students, and the same age as my baby brother. My mom agonized over the belief that she had failed them as a teacher, while I was terrified by the thought that this could just as easily happen with my baby brother.

* * *

To this day, I am still haunted by Alfred's death. It just seems so wrong to me. He was someone that I think could have made a difference in the world, but now he will never have the chance.

He will never learn how to drive.

He will never get to vote.

He will never get to go to college.

He will never get the chance to truly fall in love, or have a family, or grow old.

It is just so unfair.

* * *

A couple days before he died, it snowed. Everyone was already at school, waiting for first period to start, when it began snowing. I remember I was jumping up and down in excitement, begging my friends to have a snowball fight with me. None of them wanted to. It occurred to me that I could go find some sort-of friends from middle school to have a snowball fight with me; if nothing else, Alfred surely would have.

I found out later that he had also been begging his friends to have a snowball fight with him, with just as little success as I had.

One of my greatest regrets is not going out to look for him that day. I can't help but think that if I had, then maybe, just maybe, he would still be here. It's silly, I know, but I can't help it.

* * *

Alfred is supposed to be turning 18 today. He's been gone for nearly three years. The pain hasn't gone away, but it isn't as bad as it used to be. I still miss him, and I know I'm not the only one.

However, I have decided it is time to let go. Time to accept that he's gone, and move on. But never forget. Never, ever forget.

It's time for me to be able to look back on my memories of middle school without wanting to cry.

It's time for me to listen to the songs we played in band without feeling a pain in my chest.

It's time for me to be able to watch Dead Poets' Society without worrying about the nightmares returning.

It's time for me to move forward, and live my life.

* * *

I will never forget you, Alfred. I hope that you are happier wherever you are now than you were here. I hope you know now how much everyone loves you.

* * *

**AN: I wrote this as a way of letting out all the pent-up emotions I have regarding my friend's death a couple years ago. He is the Alfred in this story, although in real life he was more of a combination of America and France. As the story says, he should be turning 18 today.**

**It just seems wrong that he didn't stick around long enough to reach it.**


End file.
